Praise for the Carol Childs Mystery Series
“A high-speed chase of a mystery, filled with very likable characters, a timely plot, and writing so compelling that readers will be unable to turn away from the page.”
– Kings River Life Magazine
“Will keep you turning pages late into the night and make you think twice about the dark side of the Hollywood Dream.”
– Paul D. Marks,
Shamus Award-Winning Author of Vortex
“Radio host Carol Childs meets her match in this page-turner. Her opponent is everyone’s good guy but she knows the truth about the man behind the mask. Now Carol must reveal a supremely clever enemy before he gets the chance to silence her for good.”
– Laurie Stevens,
Award-Winning Author of the Gabriel McRay Series
“A story of suspense, raw emotion, and peril which builds up to a satisfying climax…Silverman has given us another book where we can sit down and get our teeth into, and I look forward to the next in the series. Highly recommended.”
– Any Good Book
“Fast paced and cleverly plotted, an edgy cozy with undertones of noir.”
– Sue McGinty,
Author of the Bella Kowalski Central Coast Mysteries
“A thoroughly satisfying crime novel with fascinating, authentic glimpses into the world of talk radio and some of its nastier stars…The writing is compelling and the settings ring true thanks to the author’s background as a newscaster herself.”
– Jill Amadio,
Author of Digging Too Deep
“The author gives us a terrific story building up to a climax that will please the reader. The old saying regarding ‘people are not always what they seem’ fits perfectly in this case…Readers will be waiting impatiently for the next installment.”
– Suspense Magazine
“Silverman provides us with inside look into the world of talk radio as Carol Childs, an investigative reporter, finds herself in the middle of a Hollywood murder mystery…A hunky FBI Agent and a wacky psychic will keep readers guessing from beginning to end.”
– Annette Dashofy,
USA Today Bestselling Author of Lost Legacy
“Silverman creates a trip through Hollywood filled with aging hippies, greedy agents, and a deadly case of product tampering. Forget the shower scene in Psycho; Shadow of Doubt will make you scared to take a bath!”
– Diane Vallere,
National Bestselling Author of Pillow Stalk
“Carol is a smart, savvy heroine that will appeal to readers. This is a cozy with a bite.”
– Books for Avid Readers
“Crackles with memorable characters, Hollywood legends, and as much action behind the mic as investigative reporter Carol Childs finds in the field.”
– Mar Preston,
Author of A Very Private High School
“I loved the tone, the pace, and the drama which pulled me in immediately…All the while I suspected something was amiss, and when it came to fruition, I knew the author was going to pull a fast one, and yes, she did, and bravo because now I must read the next book to see how it all plays out.”
– Dru’s Book Musings
Copyright
REASON TO DOUBT
A Carol Childs Mystery
Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection
First Edition | November 2018
Henery Press
www.henerypress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Copyright © 2018 by Nancy Cole Silverman
Cover art by Stephanie Savage
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-422-5
Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-423-2
Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-424-9
Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-425-6
Printed in the United States of America
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The Carol Childs Mystery Series
by Nancy Cole Silverman
SHADOW OF DOUBT (#1)
BEYOND A DOUBT (#2)
WITHOUT A DOUBT (#3)
ROOM FOR DOUBT (#4)
REASON TO DOUBT (#5)
To Mothers and Daughters
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
While writing may be a solitary occupation, requiring long spells of isolation in front of a keyboard and a blank page, bringing a book to fruition is not. And for that I’m thankful.
I have a wonderful team of cheerleaders and support, and once a manuscript is completed, they are like angels and help me in so many ways to get it out the door. For that, I would like to thank my husband Bruce and my family, who put up with my double life. My good friend and hiking partner Rhona Robbie, who reads all my initial drafts and provides a much-needed sounding board. My author friends Ellen Byron and Rochelle Staab, who understand the importance of story-therapy and are always there for me.
And for this book, a fabulous reader, Joan Ames in San Diego who enthusiastically stepped forward and volunteered her keen eyes to proofread some early drafts. Without her, my tired eyes would never catch everything.
And to my publisher, Kendel Lynn and her entire staff at Henery Press. They make the Carol Childs Mysteries possible. And finally, and most importantly, my readers. I continue to be inspired by your support. Thank you.
CHAPTER 1
“Say Cheeeese.”
The photographer stood barefoot in the sand with his jeans rolled up around his ankles and looked out from behind his black Nikon, winked at my daughter, and snapped off a series of shots while Cate, Charlie and I did our best not to squint into the California sun.
“Come on people, work with me. You too, Mom. Big smile.”
I gritted my teeth. I had been wearing the same pasted grin on my face since my daughter had returned home from college with an aspiring young fashion photographer in tow. In Cate’s eyes, Pete Pompidou was handsome, talented and destined to be the next Richard Avedon.
And, at the time, she had no reason to believe otherwise.
My name is Carol Childs. I’m a forty-year-old investigative reporter for KTLK, a talk radio station in Los Angeles, and for the last seven months, I’ve been investigating the deaths of three young fashion models. Victims of a serial killer, who we in the press had tagged the Model Slayer. The Model Slayer is my story, a story I broke after finding the first victim tied to a tree with her hands strung up above her head. News of the murders has terrorized the city and been the top story on every news outlet in town. And, up until my phone rang in my office two weeks after our little beachside photo shoot, a story I had no idea was about to become personal or that my daughter might be involved.
“Mom.” The angst in Cate’s voice was palpable. “I need your help. The police arrested Pete. They think he’s the Model Slayer.”
“What?” My stomach k
notted. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk. Tuesday, June 12th. 10:43 a.m. At this hour Cate should have been at work, not at the beach. “Where are you?”
“Pete’s place. Venice Beach. The police had a search warrant. They banged on the door, came in, and...and they...they–”
“Slow down.” Cate was hyperventilating, her breathing unusually fast. “Are you alright?”
“I’m...I’m fine, Mom. But, but Pete’s not.”
“What happened?”
Cate explained she and Pete were in bed–a vision I quickly blotted from my mind–enjoying a morning latte when the cops broke down the front door.
“They burst in and tore the place apart. Like they were looking for something.”
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t know, pictures maybe? Pete had photos of all those models who were murdered. The cops took everything. His laptop. Photographs. Notebooks. Mom, they even took his shoes. You’ve got to help. This is all some horrible mistake.”
I glanced at the picture of Cate, her younger brother, Charlie, and me on my desk. Much as I didn’t like the idea of Cate cozying up with a young man I barely knew, I could hardly envision Pete a serial killer.
“Catie, I need you to stay where you are. Text me the address and don’t say anything. Not a word, not to anybody.”
I grabbed my reporter’s bag and headed down the hall to Tyler Hunt’s office. Tyler’s my boss, the station’s news and programming director. A redheaded boy wonder, who on any given day, was either my best advocate or my worst nightmare. I’m never certain which, and for good reason. The station had once again gone through a format change, the third in as many years, and Tyler was feeling the pressure of new management to prove himself.
I tapped on the door.
“Tyler?”
Tyler didn’t look up. His fingers clicked away on the computer keyboard like a woodpecker, non-stop. His eyes locked on his screen. “What do you need, Childs?”
“Cate called. The police have arrested the Model Slayer.”
Tyler tilted his head in my direction, his fingers momentarily paused. “Your daughter?”
“She’s in Venice, with a friend. She said the police showed up with a warrant, pulled her friend out of his apartment. Then charged him with the murders.”
“What are you waiting for? If she’s right, you better get down there. And now. I want that story.”
I was halfway out the door, my hand still on the jamb when Tyler hollered back.
“And, Carol–”
I paused, my heart pounding. “Be careful, if Cate’s right and she knows this guy–”
“I know,” I said.
I didn’t wait for Tyler to finish the sentence. If Pete Pompidou was the Model Slayer, I didn’t want to think what trouble my daughter had gotten herself into.
It was impossible to find parking in Venice, particularly for those close-knit bungalows along the bike path facing the beach. The closest street is Speedway, which is more like an alley that runs behind the houses with beachfront property. The area is littered with No Parking signs boasting fines more than the monthly payment on my car. Finally, I found metered parking off Washington Boulevard, about three blocks from the address Cate had given me. Kicking off my heels, I grabbed a pair of tennis shoes from my reporter’s go-to bag, then jogged, or at least walked as fast as I could in a pencil skirt, down the boardwalk. By the time I reached Pete’s bungalow I was panting and out of breath.
I spotted Cate with her back to me, her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the ocean. She was dressed in a pair of short denim cutoffs that showed off her slim, tanned legs, sandals and a gray hoodie she had pulled up over her head. As I approached, she turned and glanced at me, then looked down at the sand. I didn’t know whether to be angry or happy to see her.
“What’s going on, Catie? You care to explain to me why you’re here and not at work this morning?”
Cate’s a pre-med major at UC San Diego and had been lucky enough to secure a summer position with UCLA in their pathology department, a rare opportunity for an undergrad.
“Mom. Please, don’t lecture me, okay? Not now.” Without another word she grabbed me and pulled me to her and buried her head in my shoulder.
I steadied myself, put my arms around her and then took her chin in my hands and turned her face to mine. “Cate, what happened? You need to tell me everything.”
“Pete and I...we were...we were having coffee when there’s a banging at the front door, and suddenly there’s this SWAT team in the house. They started yelling at us to stay put while they went through everything. They pulled Pete’s photos from the wall and went through his drawers. Then one of them grabbed me and told me to get dressed. Next thing I knew Pete’s in handcuffs and they’re dragging him away. I asked what was going on and they told me they were arresting him for the model slayings. That’s all they would say.”
“Did they ask you anything?”
“They wanted to know if I was okay. They asked me my name and where I lived. Finally, one of the officers told me to get out of there. They’d be in touch.”
“Did you get the officer’s name?”
“I got a card.” Cate took a business card from her back pocket and handed it to me.
Detective Ryan, LAPD Robbery-Homicide.
“Did Pete say anything?”
Cate rolled her eyes.
“What could he say? Other than what he’s heard and read in the news, Pete doesn’t know anything about the murders. Just ’cause he’s a photographer and took a couple of these models’ pictures, doesn’t mean he’s guilty. Mom, you’ve got to do something.”
I didn’t have the first idea what I could do to help Pete. But I knew once the news broke about the Model Slayer’s arrest, the area would be swarming with reporters. Some would canvas the neighborhood, go door-to-door and talk to neighbors about Pete. While overhead, news choppers, like locusts, would film the location for televised news reports. It was bad enough Cate had been there when Pete was arrested, and if I was going to keep my daughter out of it, we needed to leave right away before someone recognized her.
I hugged Cate, kissed her on the cheek and told her my Jeep was parked at the end of the boardwalk and to go on ahead of me. I’d be along in a minute. Once Cate was out of earshot, I took my iPhone from my bag and called Tyler.
“Newsroom,” Tyler’s quick staccato voice sounded almost mechanical.
“Tyler, it’s Carol. It’s Cate’s boyfriend alright. The police picked him up this morning.”
“For the model slayings? You got verification?”
“They had a warrant, and I’ve got the detective’s card.”
Even though Cate was an eyewitness to Pete’s arrest, as a reporter, I couldn’t risk breaking a story–particularly a story as big as the Model Slayer–and finding out later Cate had been mistaken. She had been frightened when the cops had entered his bungalow and arrested Pete. What I needed was a third party to confirm what Cate had seen.
“Call him, Carol. See if you can get a statement. If the police made an arrest, we’ll break into the morning show with the news.”
I hung up with Tyler and dialed Detective Ryan’s cell and introduced myself. Well, kind of introduced myself. I left out the part about Cate being my daughter.
“Detective Ryan, my name’s Carol Childs. I’m a reporter with KTLK Talk Radio. I was talking with a young woman who said she witnessed an arrest this morning in Venice Beach. She believes you arrested the Model Slayer.”
“What are you people, ambulance chasers? You know I’m not going to comment on a suspect in custody.” The detective’s voice was gruff, and I feared he was about to hang up.
I volleyed back good-naturedly. “Hey, we’re on the same side here, Detective. You’ve got a nervous public, and I’ve got a talk radio station that reaches
more than a million listeners. Word of the Model Slayer’s arrest would go a long way in calming those nerves.”
Ryan barked back. “Central Booking, Miss. That’s who you need to call. Until this guy’s processed, I’ve got no comment.”
I glanced at my watch. If I wanted the first crack at the story, I needed something fast. An hour from now, Pete would be processed and his name everywhere. I had one chance to be the first to report the Model Slayer’s arrest, and I needed to take it.
“Then how about we do this?” I suggested an old reporter’s trick, a standby I’d used before to secure information from sources who didn’t want to be identified. “I’ll ask if you believe the man you picked up in Venice this morning is the Model Slayer. When I do, I’ll give you to the count of five to answer. If you don’t, I’ll assume he is, and you never told me. You good with that?”
“Fire away Ms. Childs.”
I asked again, then counted backward. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”
No answer.
“Detective?”
“Yes?”
“Just wanted to make sure you heard me,” I said.
“I heard you, Miss. You got any other questions?”
“No, sir. I’ve got everything I need. Thank you.”
I was elated. I had what no other reporter in town had. Not only news of the arrest of a possible suspect in the model slayings, but a name as well. A name my daughter would probably never forgive me for broadcasting, but I couldn’t stop to think about that now.
My cell buzzed. Tyler was waiting. I glanced back up at the boardwalk where Cate was waiting in my Jeep and answered.
“What do you know, Carol? We got a story or not?”
REASON TO DOUBT Page 1
